


All in Your Head

by deirdre_aithne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Dark, F/M, Horror, Postpartum Depression, Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2019-10-27 23:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_aithne/pseuds/deirdre_aithne
Summary: "That's the thing, Harry... I think sheisgetting bad off. Still hasn't got rid of the bloody training doll, for a start. Way too attached to it, really."





	All in Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own or claim to own any characters, settings, locations, etc. from Harry Potter. All borrowed aspects of the above fandom are used purely for entertainment in a fanwork, and will be returned to their proper fandom and owners scratch, dent, and injury-free.  
>  **Author's Notes:** Inspired by an urban legend regarding 'realistic' baby dolls being given to expecting mothers. This ends poorly, so if you're the squeamish sort, I'd highly recommend clicking away now.

"I'm telling you, mate, she's not right."

Across the table, Harry shook his head. "It's just the postpartum thing, Ron. Gin went through it after she had James, remember? The healers said it wasn't much to worry about as long as she wasn't getting too bad, and now she's fine. Just keep an eye on her and let it run its course." Harry shrugged and brought his pint up to his lips, while it was Ron's turn to shake his head.

"That's the thing, Harry... I think she _is_ getting bad. Still hasn't got rid of the bloody training doll, for a start. Way too attached to it, really." He paused and shuddered, the thought of that doll never failing to make him a bit uncomfortable. It had been fine enough when they'd got it from the healers, sure – bright and shiny new, and they'd even taken the time to pick out one with ginger hair for them. Hermione had sworn it would help them both get ready for the baby, and even if he didn't understand it, well, Ron figured she sort of needed something to help keep her on track.

Losing Rosie just a few months before she was due had hit Hermione hard. She'd never quite got over that, and more than once, before she got pregnant again, Ron had caught her looking at the single snapshot they had of their baby girl, swaddled up like a proper newborn but far too still and pale.

And Hermione had taken to the doll in an instant, once they brought it home, rocking and soothing it whenever the enchantments made it fuss, even at the oddest hours of the morning. But then, she'd gone and cuddled the thing all to hell over the last few months of her pregnancy, clinging to it tighter and tighter the closer it got to the end. He'd assumed it was just the memories of what had happened with Rosie making her possessive.

Until Hugo had been born and still he caught her, now and then, stroking the damned thing's hair down and cooing to it while their own flesh and blood fussed from his crib.

"It was a comfort object," Harry interjected. "She'll grow out of it. After all, you've got Hugo now, and he's... you know... _real_. Hermione's not going to fixate on a toy over her own son."

Shaking his head again, Ron leaned closer across the table as he dropped his voice down to a whisper. "She's not _right_ , Harry, I'm telling you. I swear I've seen marks on Hugo, like he's been hit or something."

"He probably just rolled into the bars on his crib, or flailed his arms and legs a little too hard and hit something."

"I hear her snapping at him to be quiet when she can't make him settle down. I mean it, I don't think-"

" _Ron._ " Harry's voice was firm, but kind, and he flashed a smile over the rim of his pint. "Come on, it's _Hermione._ She wouldn't hurt your son any more than she'd hurt one of us. Especially not after losing Rosie – you know how devastated she was."

Ron swallowed as he gave a slow nod. "Suppose you're right," he murmured, sitting back against his side of the booth and wrapping his hands around his pint. The feeling of unease was still there, but clearly Harry wouldn't listen. And who knows, maybe he was right. Maybe it was all just in Ron's head, just him being overprotective and paranoid at the thought of something happening to his boy. Surely losing a child would do that to someone, mess with their head a bit.

Giving himself a shake, he raised his pint up and drained it dry, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he set the empty mug down again. "I should probably get home," he said as he started sliding out of his seat, but Harry's brow furrowed and he reached an arm across the table to catch Ron's arm.

"Come on, mate, you've only had one pint. Stay a little longer, yeah?"

"Well-"

"What harm could it do?" Harry asked, flashing that hint of a smile at him again. Ron very nearly gave in despite himself, half sinking back into his seat before he shook his head and straightened up again.

"I really ought to get back. Work in the morning and all that, and I'm sure Hermione could use a break from Hugo. She's had him alone all day..."

Harry didn't quite look convinced, but still he let him go, and Ron pulled his jacket off the back of the booth, tugging it on while he wove his way between the crowded tables of the pub to get outside.

The tug of Apparition very nearly made him sick, his stomach churning as he got his feet back under him in the dark entryway of the house. "Drank a bit too quick," he muttered to himself, taking a slow, deep breath while he waited for the nausea to pass. When his stomach had settled again, he straightened up and headed for the stairs, pausing at the topmost landing as that sense of unease began creeping up on him again. Just as dark as the downstairs had been, he couldn't pick out even the narrow glow of light beneath a door as he glanced in either direction down the hall. But he could hear Hermione's voice, soft and melodic, coming from Hugo's room, her words unintelligible beneath the quiet creak of the old hand-me-down glider seat sliding back and forth.

Moving closer down the hall, Ron stopped outside the door and pressed his hand against the door to push it a little further open, the muffled sound of Hermione's singing becoming clearer as he pressed his face into the small gap created between door and frame.

"- _my sunshine, my only sunshine..._ "

Even without the lamp lit, the room was bright enough with moonlight filtering in through the windows, and Ron swallowed as his gaze settled on a smear of blood on the floor beside Hugo's crib, gripping hard onto the frame of the door to keep himself steady on his feet. Hermione was hurt, of course... That had to be the reason, because Harry was right, she would never hurt Hugo, not really. Never mind what his own paranoid brain came up with to say otherwise – his Hermione would never harm their boy.

Never mind the bloodstain on the wall...

" _You make me happy, when skies are grey..._ "

"Hermione?"

Her voice faltered, and Ron pushed the door fully open, then, studiously keeping his gaze away from the blood. Just as he'd thought, she was sitting in the glider, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of relief when he saw the swaddled bundle in her arms, with a tuft of ginger hair peeking out over the edge of the white blankets.

"Quiet, love. Hugo's sleeping," Hermione murmured softly, offering him a brief smile before turning her gaze down at the baby once more. For a moment, it could all have just been his imagination. Maybe he'd had a little too much alcohol – he wasn't twenty any more, after all. It had just gone to his head, of course. Smiling himself, Ron took a step forward before his steps halted as his gaze was drawn downward; even the creak of Hermione's chair paused when he did.

"What's the matter, love?" she asked, but he couldn't find his voice to answer. The tangle of blankets on the floor was too large. Too familiar in shape.

"Oh, that." Hermione's voice was casual. Disinterested. And she turned her attention back to the baby in her arms. "That damned doll started up again, fussing incessantly like it does. It was bothering the baby, so I had to shut it up. Didn't I, little one?" she cooed before rocking forward slightly to set the glider moving once again.

" _You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,_ " Hermione sang, picking up her lullaby where she'd left off, and the sound sent a shudder rippling through Ron as he struggled to tear his gaze away from the stains of red soaked into the blankets on the floor.

" _So please don't take my sunshine away..._ "


End file.
